


Yes Daddy I Do

by the_100_sin_bin_1985



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 05:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_100_sin_bin_1985/pseuds/the_100_sin_bin_1985
Summary: Octavia's not adjusting to college very well, so her foster dad Marcus comes out for Parents' Weekend to cheer her up and things . . . don't go quite as expected.  Featuring enthusiastically consensual daddy kink, a ton of sass and fluff, some family feels, a little spanking, and just a sprinkle of background Sea Mechanic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> another piece of "the 100" kink meme trash i decided to share over here!

It starts pretty innocent, honestly.  
  
Bell’s in Nebraska at boot camp, and she’s lonely without him. She hadn’t wanted to move into the dorms, but Marcus had insisted.  
  
“I can go to school and then come home, like high school.”  
  
“That’s not what college is for. Octavia, you have to meet new people.”  
  
“I hate new people.”  
  
“Yes. You have to learn not to do that.”  
  
“I don’t want to be the weirdo,” she sulks, and he doesn’t push back because they’ve had this conversation before. And he gets it. She doesn’t want to be the small-town tabloid freak show. The girl whose mom ran out and left her locked in a cellar. Face in all the papers, everyone knows Octavia Blake. Bell got free of it, joined the army, took off for a base five states away, and she’s glad, really. But Marcus Kane was Bell’s godfather, not hers, she never really knew him that well, and they’re still kinda trying to work out what this whole thing is. He didn’t adopt them, exactly, though there was paperwork she had to read with too many big words on it for her little brain to understand. All she really knew then was that she’d spent three days trapped in the cellar, sobbing, no idea her mom had taken off, no idea Bell was trapped in the attic, frantic that he couldn’t reach her, no idea that when Marcus Kane – a polite acquaintance, not Mom’s friend, a lawyer, someone Octavia kinda got the picture had mostly served to patiently help her out of scrapes for the sake of the children – swept in trailed by a swarm of police he’d found Bellamy half-feral, trying to claw the boards out of the floor. He’d picked the boy up without hesitation, even though Bellamy was ten and already big, and had shoved past the cops towards the stairs, “cellar, cellar” the only intelligible word Bellamy could say. Octavia remembers the moment the door opened, light pouring in, a tall man with a beard holding Bellamy and sprinting down the stairs, grabbing her, pulling her close, holding them both so they could hold each other, and suddenly she knew what “safe” felt like for the first time in her life.  
  
After that, they’d just been his.  
  
He’s sort of a dad and sort of an uncle and sort of a friend and sort of an overly-strict pain in Bellamy’s ass, though until Bellamy left O had never really had a problem with him. But he’s got one kid out of the house so he’s laser-focused on the other one and suddenly there are all these new rules.  
  
Like that she has to live in the dorms freshman year, even though she hates, hates, hates crowds of people.  
  
They compromise. There’s a dorm under construction, only one wing open and like three of the twenty-six rooms filled. “ _Nobody_ wants to live in Arkadia Hall,” says the Resident Life Director dubiously. “There’s no dining hall, you have to walk to the one two buildings over – “  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“And you’d have almost the whole floor to yourself, there’s only two other students assigned to that section. Overflow from Polis Hall, since it’s not ADA-compliant yet.”  
  
“Perfect.”  
  
“Miss Blake, Arkadia hardly has a Res Life staff. You would be missing out on a _huge_ component of the freshman experience.”  
  
“Perfect,” Octavia says. “Where do I sign?”  
  
The Res Life Director looks at Marcus. Marcus looks back.  
  
“Just let her sign,” he says finally, sighing, compromise struck, which is how Octavia ends up in a nearly deserted hallway in a dorm section she has almost completely to herself.  
  
Raven and Luna live at the end of the hall (roommates, maybe girlfriends, Octavia doesn’t care enough to hunt around for more information) and they’re perfect neighbors. Meaning, they’re eleven doors away, civil but not chatty, and barely ever home.  
  
So she got what she wanted.  
  
But like. Not that she’d admit this to him _ever_. But maybe, Marcus was a little bit right.  
  
She’s used to him and Bell, she’s used to people, it gets lonely at night, and the hall’s too quiet.  
  
Everything’s too quiet.

She doesn’t tell him any of this when he shows up for Parents’ Weekend, his first real look at the place since he moved her furniture and boxes in. She doesn’t say anything, but he knows.  
  
“A little quiet,” he offers. She shrugs. No response.  
  
But he watches her the rest of the day, and after dinner he comes back to her room instead of getting in the car and driving home. “Why don’t I crash here tonight?” he suggests. There’s a second bed built into the room, she has a second pair of sheets and an extra blanket, it’s no trouble, and she hates herself for how relieved she feels.  
  
Just one night, but another human body in the house.  
  
She always shared a room with Bell, after Marcus came to take them away. He’d made things so nice for them, as quickly as he could, found a bigger apartment, asked them both what they liked, made a butterfly bedroom for Octavia and an outer space one for Bellamy. But they cried if they were apart too long, so after awhile outer space became the playroom and they both slept with the butterflies. Until Bell went off to college, and then army boot camp, they hadn’t spent a night apart since the cellar.  
  
Bell's been gone for a long time, but at least before she’d had Marcus.  
  
Now she’s alone. Just her, twelve empty rooms, and then two strangers.  
  
Marcus helps her fix the wobbly leg on her desk chair, runs two loads of laundry while she finishes her chem assignment (Arkadia’s one perk, no competition for washers and dryers), makes her tea, and climbs into bed in his boxers and undershirt with his book (Marcus is the kind of person who always has a book with him, it’s that Chernow biography of Alexander Hamilton this week). He reads and sips his tea while she works. The room’s big and dark, just two islands of light, her at the desk and him reading.  
  
Another warm body.  
  
She feels so safe.  
  
He’s always made her feel so safe.  
  
It’s late when she finishes, but he’s still wide awake. She’s not shy about changing in front of him, and he looks politely away while she does. She switches off the light, leaving the room big and dark and a little lonely again, and even though she can hear his breathing he’s still a little too far away.  
  
On a whim, she crawls in next to him.  
  
“Octavia,” he rebukes gently.  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“This is a twin bed. You are made of elbows.”  
  
“It’s too quiet here,” she says, a little desperate, a little naked, and everything stops moving for a minute as the truth clicks into place.  
  
You have to be careful with Octavia, he’s learned. Doesn’t want to be smothered, but gets scared when she’s left too much alone. Hates crowds, but still dreams about that cellar, still lies awake worrying that anyone you love can just walk out the door one day and leave you.  
  
It’s a tricky balance, he’s not her father, he’s got no idea if he’s doing it right, but he sees more than she thinks he does.  
  
“Okay,” he says gently, not pushing her, not asking her to talk, just shifting to make room and draping an arm around her, letting their bodies stack together, two parallel curved lines.  
  
There’s an expected amount of shifting to make room – Marcus Kane’s a big man and this is a small bed and he doesn’t want to crush her – but she really is all elbows, and there’s more than one soft, annoyed “oof” as sharp little bones jab soft flesh.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“I haven’t done this since Bellamy left.”  
  
“Haven’t done what?”  
  
“Had anyone else in the bed.”

There’s a pause, so subtle she almost misses it. “Oh,” he says carefully, one syllable containing a whole list of questions about the two months she’s been living on campus and only seeing him on weekends. There’s a lot in that “oh.” There’s genuine surprise, the revelation that this is a thing he didn’t know. There’s a hint of reproach, maybe? _Shouldn’t_ she be out at parties, bringing home the occasional boy? Isn’t that developmentally appropriate for age 18, has he somehow made a mistake as her parental figure, were there things about men he was supposed to teach her, or, oh no, is it _girls_ , was it girls all along and he never covered this, didn’t give her any of the necessary information, so she doesn’t have any idea how to –  
  
“I can _hear_ you thinking,” she mutters, and this time the elbow is deliberate. “Stop it.”  
  
“Am I,” he begins, then stops. “I don’t always know – I’m sorry. Maybe if I was your father this would all be a bit more organic. I’m a little at sea here. Octavia, have you –"  
  
“No,” she says, not quite sure why she’s defensive, why she feels embarrassed about this. It’s not like it’s a character flaw. “Twice almost, but never all the way. Boys at parties, you don’t know them,” she rushes on, cutting off his inevitable follow-up question. “It was fine, everything’s _fine_ , they didn’t do anything _bad_ , it just . . . .I don’t know. I didn’t feel like having what seemed like it was probably gonna be bad sex just to say I’d had sex.”  
  
“I think that’s very sound,” he says approvingly, voice warm against the back of her neck. She softens a little, defensiveness gone. His arms feel good.  
  
“I want to know what it’s like,” she goes on, surprising herself a little. Maybe it’s easier to do this not looking at him. “I mean like …. You know. I want to.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“With the right person.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“But I just worry that I won’t . . . you know.”  
  
“Octavia, are you afraid a boy will judge you because you don’t know what you’re doing?”  
  
His voice is so gentle and he knows her so well and he hears the thing she isn’t saying. The picture in his mind is so clear. Octavia and a boyfriend, some tall handsome brilliant politics major who plays baseball or something, some real decent-seeming guy, a guy who comes for dinner when Bellamy’s in town and walks Octavia home from class, a guy who gets how smart and gorgeous and amazing she is, a guy she finally trusts enough to let someone who isn’t Marcus or Bellamy get into her bed.  
  
And then what if, after all that, after she opens herself all the way up, after that gesture of perfect and complete trust, he turns out to be just an ordinary boy who vanishes the next morning and tells the rest of the baseball team that Octavia Blake is a shitty lay.  
  
She’d never recover. It would be the cellar all over again.  
  
“He’d be an _asshole_ ,” Marcus says, a little ferociously, and Marcus never swears so she knows he means it.  
  
“I know,” she says. “I know that. But still.”  
  
“Okay, well,” he attempts. “There are . . . I suppose. Resources.”  
  
“I’ve seen porn before.”  
  
“No, that wasn’t – oh God. No. I meant. Okay, I just meant, if you’re nervous, before your first time, there are, there’s the internet, there are . . . guides and things . . .”  
  
“No one can _explain_ to you how to have sex,” she says, like he’s an idiot. “You have to just _do_ it, to learn. And I don’t know _any_ of these people. Any of them could be a secret jerk. And then how do you know, if they aren’t, that they won’t –"  
  
“You’ll know.”  
  
“No, I wanna practice first,” she says, the idea formulating in her head slowly as she speaks. “You should have sex with someone you trust, first, even if you aren’t gonna date them. Someone who can teach you. And then when you’re ready for the real person, you won’t be scared. You’ll know what to do. What you like.”  
  
Marcus is a little too old-fashioned to sign off on this idea without a lot more thought, but the deliberate answer he’s carefully formulating flies out the window when she wriggles inside his arms to turn over, rolling him onto his back and leaning over his chest.  
  
“Will you?” she asks impatiently.  
  
He’s completely lost. “Will I _what_ , Octavia?”  
  
“Have practice sex with me.”

He sits bolt upright. “Octavia,” he says sternly. “There is absolutely, categorically no such thing as _practice sex_.”  
  
“Okay, but there _could_ be.”  
  
_“Octavia.”_  
  
And hand to God, she’s got no idea what makes her do it, she’s _never_ looked at him this way before, maybe it started as fear of the dark and turned into warm comfort in his arms and maybe she really wants to learn how to trust people who aren’t Marcus and Bellamy but she’s got no idea where to start and at least here she knows she’s safe.  
  
So she kisses him.  
  
He makes a little sound, startled, flustered, and for a moment she’s terrified he’ll push her off of him, get out of the bed, leave her humiliated. She feels him think about it, frozen with his back against the wall, considering the logistics of extricating himself. But she’s relentless when she wants something, her hands come up to his jaw, hold him there, mouth insistent against his. She’s always liked the feel of his beard, used to pet it when she was little, and she brushes it with the back of her knuckles almost without thinking, that comforting soft-scruff feel.  
  
Marcus snaps.  
  
His mouth falls open beneath hers and then she’s in his arms and they’re kissing, _really_ kissing, this is a hundred times better than kissing a teenage boy, Marcus is a _man_ who knows what he’s doing and he loves her so much and everything’s perfect, it’s the most perfect kiss in the world, hard and soft, rough and gentle, lips and beard and tongue and hands, and now she really _really_ wants him to sleep with her.  
  
She’s already convinced herself he’ll start apologizing the second his lips break contact, he’ll say something gentle and understanding and untangle himself from her arms and go at least to the other bed, if not to the car and back home, and she holds out as long as she can but she does eventually have to, you know, _breathe_ , so she pulls away and looks at him, already blinking back tears of embarrassment at the gentle rejection she’s expecting.  
  
Then, “God help me,” he mutters unexpectedly, and then he has her on her back.  
  
_Oh God.  
  
Oh God._  
  
It’s never occurred to her until just now that Marcus doesn’t date, he’s never brought women home, his whole life has been Bellamy and her, and she wonders how long it’s been since _he’s_ gotten laid. Because he’s swift, eager, mouthing kisses down her neck, all focused intensity, hungry for her, and he isn’t fighting her on this at all.  
  
“Beard, huh?” she laughs a little breathlessly as he nuzzles into her. “That’s the on switch?”  
  
“Seems so,” he says wryly, comfortable enough that they can both find this all a little amusing, which means he’s not getting up to abandon her, which means she can settle in. She squirms happily, letting his big body settle over her. “Or maybe I spent so long thinking of you as my little girl that I didn’t realize until just now that you’d turned into the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”  
  
She bites her lip, a shiver rocking through her. She told him she’s seen porn, but didn’t say what _kind_. And maybe she’s a fucking idiot but she actually didn’t make the connection until just now.  
  
“Your little girl,” she repeats, a soft whisper, wrapping a thigh around his hips.  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
“I could be,” she breathes, and his head snaps up. He gets it immediately. “I could be, Marcus.”  
  
“Oh God, Octavia, this is already – “  
  
“Daddy, please,” she whispers, and that’s it, he’s done, he’s got no fight left.  
  
“Oh God,” he growls, seizing her face in his hand, and doesn’t let her mouth go until neither of them can breathe.

His hand finds the warm cotton between her thighs, already dampening a little, and he cups her there, like he’s cradling her cunt, like it’s precious, which is such a goddamn Marcus thing to do that her heart gives a little flip inside her chest. His beard and moustache are soft and rough against her skin, and as his lips move away from hers to kiss his way down her neck she starts to shiver from the friction and can’t stop. “Daddy,” she breathes as he nuzzles in deeper, and his groan of pleasure sounds like pain.  
  
“We have to talk about this before we go any further,” he murmurs into her ear, breath warm, voice a low baritone rumble she can feel echoing between her thighs. “And the longer we wait, the harder it will be to stop.”  
  
“I don’t want to stop, I don’t want you to stop . . .”  
  
“Just for a minute, sweetheart, just so we can . . . I just want to make sure we get everything – clear.”  
  
He tears his lips away from her skin with enormous reluctance, and she pouts a little as he lifts up onto his elbows. But he doesn’t move off her body and he doesn’t remove his hand from between her thighs, which makes her feel a little better. “Talk fast,” she advises, eyes narrowed, and his low throaty chuckle makes her feel warm all over.  
  
“First, and most importantly,” he tells her, “You’re eighteen now. This isn’t illegal, but it is . . . _questionable_. So this needs to be your choice. I need to hear you say it to me, out loud, so I’m sure you’re sure, and I need you to promise me that if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, or if it hurts, or if you want to stop, that you’ll tell me right away.”  
  
“I want you to be my first time,” she says, and she isn’t playing baby girl and daddy anymore, she isn’t flirting or teasing, she’s actually shaking a little, suddenly nervous, suddenly it’s _so real_ , but he smiles and nods like this was the right answer, like he needed to hear the real Octavia invite him in.  
  
“And you _promise_?”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“Good.” He takes a deep breath. “Now. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I need to say this so it’s been said. I need you to know that I never – truly, Octavia, until just this minute – I mean to say, when you were a child, I never – I would _never_ – I didn’t feel that way –"  
  
She wrinkles her nose, makes a face. “Jesus, Marcus, of _course_ not. I know that.” He collapses a little in relief, like there was a part of him that was genuinely terrified that she would think he'd thought about her like this when she was ten, when it was so evident from his panic at her kiss that this had never crossed his mind once in all their lives.  
  
“I also, I suppose, speaking of . . . well. Me being much older. I’m not –" He stops, can’t look at her for this part. “I’m forty-two,” he says in a quiet voice, “and my body is forty-two, everything _looks_ like it’s forty-two and _works_ like it’s forty-two, and you’re used to being around much younger men with much younger bodies and I don’t want you to feel shortchanged by –"  
  
She kisses him to shut him up, mouth hot and hungry, and it’s so strange for _her_ to be the one reassuring _him_ for once, but he softens and melts into her and she can taste his relief. She’s suddenly so moved by how vulnerable he is, by the realization that this is scary for him too, that there are things he’s afraid of. For the Blake kids, Marcus Kane has always been this big powerful wall between them and the world. She kind of likes that here in her bed, with his rapidly-stiffening cock pressed into her hip, he’s just a man, real and honest and unexpectedly a little . . . maybe _shy_? It’s endearing and sexy at the same time and she realizes, as her hands tangle in his hair, that the game has changed already.

“I don’t want practice sex,” she tells him, rushing on before he gets hold of the wrong end of the stick and feels like it’s a no. “I want it real. I don’t want it to be about . . . about you getting me ready for some other guy. You’re the one I want.”  
  
“Octavia –"  
  
“You’re the one I want,” she says again, and she’s so sure, her voice steady and strong, and the smile that washes over his face makes her heart beat faster.  
  
“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. If you’re sure.”  
  
“Move your hand,” she whispers, shocking herself a little, “feel how sure I am.”  
  
He’s stunned by this, by the boldness of it, by hearing her say something so explicitly erotic. He swallows hard.  
  
He moves his hand.  
  
A finger dips lightly under the lace trim of her panties, hesitant, gentle, slow. He strokes the soft, downy hair, feels how damp it already is, watches her big dark eyes looking up at him with undisguised want. When his fingers move lower, to find her clit, she watches him blink with astonishment.  
  
“Oh God. Oh my God. Sweetheart, you’re _soaked_.”  
  
“It’s always been older men,” she pants a little as he pets her clit with impossibly gentle fingers. “Always. All my fantasies. I’ve never been turned on by the thought of going to bed with a boy. Not really. And I didn’t know why until just now when suddenly . . .” He’s staring down at her with naked shock, so overwhelmed and so aroused and listening with such intensity, so patient, waiting for her to get all the words out just right so she knows she’s been heard. “When I get off, that’s the stuff I like,” she whispers, so bold she can’t even believe it herself. “Not boys. _Men._ Older men. Taking care of their little girls.”  
  
He closes his eyes, like he can’t look at her in the eyes and admit this. “When I get off,” he murmurs back, “that’s the stuff I like too.”  
  
The thought of him getting himself off to the same kind of porn she likes is a _lot_. Fuck, those big strong hands on his own dick, the way he might sound when he comes . . . She wonders what his dick’s going to look like. She can feel it against her hip and knows it’s big.  
  
“Well, let’s not waste a coincidence this lucky,” she says a little breathlessly as she reaches down to tug her shirt over her head. “Let’s seize the day.”  
  
His fingers move against her, rubbing her clit with deft precision. He really, really knows his way around. She’s already whimpering a little, wriggling up against him for more. “When you get off,” he murmurs into her ear, sinking down heavily on top of her, “how do you like it?”  
  
She doesn’t answer, but reaches out a hand, fumbles for the handle of the bedside table’s top drawer, rummages around, and shows him.  
  
His jaw drops.  
  
“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” he whispers, almost reverently, staring at the massive black silicon dildo she holds in her hand. “You can _take_ that?”  
  
“All the way.”  
  
“Oh God, oh God,” he groans, hips rocking against hers, rubbing her clit harder. “I wasn’t sure . . . for your first time, I wasn’t sure if we – if you wouldn’t want me to . . .”  
  
“I want you to fuck me, and I like it hard,” she whispers, all vestige of restraint or hesitation gone. “I want you to teach me how to do it with someone else.”  
  
He slips two fingers up and down between her soft, aching, wet labia, pushing the folds gently apart, the pads of his fingertips slipping wetly over her entrance. “You take that big thing all the way?” he murmurs, tapping at it a little. “You put that thing right in here? Where you’re so wet and tight?” She nods. “Such a good girl,” he breathes, and she feels pure joy rocket through her because he’s going to _do it_ , he’s really going to do it. “Daddy’s so proud. No idea you could take so much.” He plucks the dildo out of her hands and drops it back in the drawer. “But we won’t be needing that tonight, will we?”  
  
“No, Daddy.”  
  
“What are you going to take tonight, sweetheart?”  
  
“I’m going to take your cock, Daddy.”  
  
“Oh, yes you are,” he murmurs, and there’s a little flash of mischief in his eyes, he smiles down at her, she smiles up at him, they’re both having _so much fun_ , and Octavia’s never felt this alive in her life.

All remaining clothes are gone in a matter of moments, and Marcus is now fully in character, he’s ready to play exactly the game she wants, he’s ready to be Daddy and make her his baby girl. “Why don’t we start,” he murmurs into her skin, “with you getting Daddy all ready to fuck you. Can you do that? Do you want Daddy to teach you how to make him feel so good with your pretty little mouth?”  
  
Her cunt is so hot it’s pulsing, like she can feel her own heartbeat down there, and the wetness is beginning to slide down her thighs. She bites her lip, nods breathlessly, giving him her wide innocent eyes. “Teach me,” she whispers, letting a little flicker of begging show through, and he rolls over onto his back to sit up on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Get on your knees for Daddy,” he orders her, voice gentle and commanding at the same time, and she’s _shaking_ from arousal, this is better than any porn she’s ever seen in her life, and she drops to her knees on the floor to get her first good look at it and _holy shit_.  
  
She elbows his knees open so she can move into them, and takes Marcus in her hands. His dick is beautiful, thick and long, swelling against her touch already, blushing pink-purple with heat, the tip already a little shiny and slick. She just runs her hands all over it to begin with, fascinated, curious. She’s never seen one before. It feels so good beneath her touch, the skin soft and delicate but the core underneath it hot and hard and pulsing. She traces the vein with her fingers, hears him inhale sharply, then moves her hands lower. His balls are beautiful too, smooth-skinned and rosy, the thick downy hair of him soft and dark and just right. She presses his cock up against his belly and tongues the ridge of vein. Marcus tastes like salt and skin, a little earthy, and the little clear glimmer of liquid seeping out of the slit at the top tastes like a more deeply concentrated version of the same.  
  
“You look so beautiful on your knees for Daddy,” he murmurs adoringly, hands petting her dark hair as she nuzzles the gorgeous cock in front of her, letting it brush her cheeks, jaw, mouth, neck. “My beautiful baby girl.”  
  
“It’s so pretty,” she whispers, giving the head a reverent kiss. “It’s going to feel so good inside me.”  
  
“Oh, God, sweetheart, I’m going to make you feel so good with this,” he promises her. “I’m going to make my angel come so hard.”  
  
“What do you want me to do to make you feel good?”  
  
“I want you to lick it up and down until it’s all wet, sweetheart, and then I want you to take it inside your mouth, as deep as you can, and I want to feel you suck me. Can you do that?”  
  
“Yes,” she breathes, “yes, let me suck you, Daddy, teach me how, tell me how you like it so I can make you happy.”  
  
“You already make me happy, baby girl,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”  
  
She presses his cock back upright and bathes it with her tongue, wet and messy, saliva everywhere, but neither of them mind. The wet little sounds seem to stir him. She lets it get sloppy, licks and kisses as wetly as she can, smearing the thick clear glistening droplets of pre-cum on the tip of his cock with her thumb so the whole head shines with it. “Perfect,” he groans, “now suck it all clean.”  
  
His instructions are clear, firm, gentle, and he’s full of approval when she gets something right. He tugs a little at her hair, pushes down a little on the crown of her head, but just enough to make her feel shivers of pleasure at being bossed around a little. Never enough to cross a line, never enough to make her gag or wince. Just slowly, purposefully, gently guiding her to open her mouth, her throat, relax more and more, until she’s taken over half of him inside. That’s all she can do, but it’s plenty, and when she closes her lips around it to make nakedly raw, hungry, wet noises her groans vibrate around his dick and make him shiver. “Oh, your lips are so soft,” he breathes. “Now suck, angel. Breathe deep and suck hard for Daddy. It’s gonna feel so good. Make me so hard. Make me ready to come inside you.”

Palms resting on his knees for balance, hair caught up in his two hands as he holds her in place, she opens up just a little further, just barely on the edge of too much of him in her mouth, and she begins to suck as hard as she can. “Gentle, baby,” he corrects her, giving her hair a faintly reproving tug. “Daddy’s sensitive. Start gentle, and work your way up.”  
  
So she slows down, thick wet “mmm-mmm” noises muffled by that warm mouthful of dick, hands reaching back to cup those two heavy, beautiful mounds, rewarded by a raw, sharp gasp of shocked pleasure at her touch. She fondles and sucks until she can feel the cock in her mouth stretched out iron-hard to its fullest length, quivering and pulsing, and he cradles her face in his hands to pull her off him.  
  
“Someday I’ll let you make me come that way,” he whispers, “but right now I need something else.”  
  
“What do you need?”  
  
“I need to taste you, sweetheart,” he breathes, taking her shoulders, pulling her up, rolling her over onto her back. “I need to taste that sweet little cunt. No one’s ever done that to you before, have they?” She shakes her head, trembling, and he smiles, stroking the hair away from her face. “I’m so glad I’m the first one who gets to do this to you,” he breathes, and just for a moment she thinks it’s not a daddy line, it’s Marcus saying that to Octavia, and her heart stops beating from the shock.  
  
He kisses his way down between her breasts and over her belly and everything’s all confusing, because he’s so tender and reverent and he’s kissing her the way he held her before any of this happened and the real starts to push through the pretend, and she can’t stop shaking.  
  
She doesn’t even bother to contain the desperate, high-pitched little squeals that tumble out of her when the soft scritch of his moustache nuzzles into her cunt, soft warm lips and hard rough tongue moving against her. “Oh, I, it’s, you’re,” but full sentences are impossible. He’s _phenomenal_ at this, she doesn’t have to tell him anything, doesn’t have to give a single instruction, because he can sense what she wants before she even knows to ask for it, and she hits the ceiling astonishingly fast. She comes in hardly any time at all, it hasn’t even been three minutes, hips slamming up into him so hard he has to press warm hard palms into her thighs to hold her down against the mattress. He doesn’t stop and doesn’t stop and doesn’t stop, holds her down even though she’s squirming, wriggling, ticklish and sensitive and a little faint. He sucks at her clit, hard, which puts the whispery flutter of his moustache in exactly the right place, and the second orgasm leaves her boneless and melty all over, limp against the mattress, inarticulate mumbling whines the only sound she can make.  
  
Damn, this was a good decision. No dildo can do _that_.  
  
When he finally lifts his heads she reaches down frantically, tugs his hair, pulls him up to her, seizes his shiny, sticky lips in hers. “Daddy, Daddy,” she moans between kisses as his warm heavy body settles against hers. “Oh God.”  
  
“My baby,” he whispers. “My beautiful girl. I had no idea you’d taste so good.” His hands slide up her belly to palm her breasts, pinch her nipples between thumb and forefinger until she squeals again. “It’s time for you to take Daddy’s cock,” he tells her, and she nods.  
  
“I want it.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
He sits up straight, legs stretched out in front of him, and holds out his arms for her to come settle onto his lap. “Sit down,” he commands her, making her cunt tremble all over again, and guides her to seat herself on his thighs, ankles wrapped around his back. He doesn’t put his dick inside her yet, seats her behind it so it pushes into her cunt and belly. She doesn’t need to be invited to touch it, she just goes right ahead, and he leans his forehead against hers, breathing hard, the mask dropping for a moment.  
  
“Last chance to back out,” he whispers to her.  
  
“I’m sure,” she breathes. “I’m sure.”  
  
“I didn’t know how badly I wanted this until we started,” he murmurs, “and it just gets harder and harder to hold onto control.”  
  
“There’s twelve empty bedrooms between us and my closest neighbors,” she retorts in a low voice, “lose control as loud as you want.”

He chuckles at this, a little ruefully. “God, this is really happening, isn’t it?” he says softly. “I’m not dreaming.”  
  
She lifts herself up, taut strong thighs clenching with exertion, until she’s hovering above him, fingers digging into his shoulders for balance, and lowers herself until the very tip of his cock nudges her folds open, then holds herself there.  
  
“Put your cock inside me, Daddy,” she whispers, licking hot little kisses into his neck. “Please.”  
  
“I want to hear you beg for it,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked. “Beg for my cock, baby girl.”  
  
“I need it, I need it,” she whines, “I’ve never had a cock inside me and I want the first one to be yours.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yes, please, please Daddy . . .”  
  
He shuts her up with a kiss, rough, hard, hands tangling in her hair, hands hard and insistent on her breasts, cock twitching against her belly, starting to lose control. “Beg me some more,” he mumbles against her lips, then bends his head to lick hotly at the hollow of her throat.  
  
“I want you to fuck me, Daddy, I want you to make me come, I want to feel you come inside me, please, please, your baby girl is begging you, you’re the only thing in the whole world I want and I can’t wait anymore.”  
  
“Then make me wet for you,” he growls, nipping at her neck until she squeals. “Touch yourself. Stroke your little cunt. Your sweet little pink cunt that tastes so good. And then make me wet.”  
  
She’s still holding herself taut above him, up on her knees, dick just nudging into her, and it’s easy to slick it with hot sticky wetness from her own drenched cunt. She lets it get sloppy again, the way he seems to like it, slicking her palms up and down the shaft, caressing the tip, her juices all over every inch of him. “Oh, good girl,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “Just like that. Perfect.”  
  
“Is it time for you to fuck me now?”  
  
“It’s time,” he whispers, and grabs his dick with one hand, her hip in the other, and presses her down.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Even after like a year and a half with that dildo, Marcus’ dick is a _lot_ , and she feels it, feels every inch, feels him stretch her open.  
  
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she gasps, eyes going wide, the pressure of his hardness stretching her open from the inside. His hand cups her cheek and he’s Marcus again with those eyes that miss nothing.  
  
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his regular voice, that voice she loves so much. “Is this okay?”  
She nods. It’s more than okay, it’s fucking _heavenly_ , she’s _ascended_ , she had no idea it could feel like this, he’s so hot and hard and rough and gentle and he fills her all the way up, he fits perfectly inside her, everything’s more right than she ever imagined it could be with anyone.  
  
“Come here,” he says, holding his arms open, and she collapses forward into them, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s so good,” she murmurs, letting her whole body soften against his. “Marcus, you feel so good.”  
  
“Oh God, so do you,” he breathes into her hair, stroking warm fingers up and down her spine. “You are so lovely, Octavia.” His voice is warm and low, pulsing with affection. “So beautiful. So perfect. You make me feel so good.”  
  
“Take care of me, Daddy,” she whimpers as she sinks into his neck, arms slung loosely around him, and he wraps his arms around her tighter.  
  
“Of course,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, baby girl. I’m here. Daddy’s here.”

Everything goes a little blurry after that, the artificial smoothness of silicon inside her cunt completely failing to live up to the throbbing heat of the real thing. He goes slow and deep, hips rolling against hers, cradling her in his arms like the child she was the first time he held her, and she feels so safe and cherished. Big warm hands soothing her back, stroking her hair, cupping her ass. Warm beard kisses on her cheek and forehead. She would say it was everything she ever imagined, but how the hell could she ever imagined it could possibly be like this?  
  
“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “Oh, Octavia. My sweet girl.”  
  
“Marcus,” she pants. “Jesus. Oh, God.”  
  
They rock together, slow and steady, his hands on her ass, her hands clutching his hair. Time stops moving.  
“It was too quiet at home, too,” he says unexpectedly, his voice so raw and real that it startles her into lifting her head, taking his face in both her hands. Their hips keep moving, soft little gasps tumbling out of both their lips, but they’re locked on each other now.  
  
“Marcus, what – “  
  
“It isn’t just you,” he confesses, “you’re not the only one whose bedroom is too empty and too dark. You’re here, and I’m alone there, in the place where you used to be, and I miss you.”  
  
“Oh, Marcus,” she exclaims softly, the sad ache in his voice an astonishment.  
  
“It was the right thing,” he says. “For you. I had to let you go. It’s what parents do. But I miss you. My house is empty when you’re not in it. My whole _life_ would be empty if you weren't in it.”  
  
She holds his jaw between her hands, beard rough-soft against her palms, forehead bent against his, watching his dark eyes fluttering closed, black eyelashes stark against his golden skin. She kisses his mouth, over and over. “I miss you,” he whispers as her hips move deep and slow, as she starts to ride him faster and faster. “I miss you. I miss you.”  
  
She comes on his cock with a breathtaking ferocity, the pressure inside and the low rumble of his voice and the ache of emotion, his yearning for her, crashing together into an orgasm like she’s never felt before. Her slim arms go around his neck, holding on tight, and both of them know that wasn’t Daddy, that was him. The real him.  
  
Marcus is inside her, still hard, throbbing.  
  
_Marcus made her come._  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks again, and she answers with a kiss, wet and hot and full of gratitude, and he smiles back against her mouth, so pleased, so happy.  
  
“Daddy’s turn,” she murmurs. “You can do anything you want to me.”  
  
“Oh, baby girl,” he whispers, and then suddenly with one swift move he’s got her flat on her stomach, his dick between the apex of her thighs, the tip driving into the mattress, the shaft bumping against her cunt. “You’ve been a little bad,” he murmurs into her ear, breath warm on the back of her neck. “You came first and didn’t wait for Daddy.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she pants back. “I’m sorry I was a bad little girl.”  
  
When he spanks her – hand light and quick, the perfect little sting with no real pain, just a jolt of _ohmygodyes_ surging through her cunt – the breath goes out of her lungs in a whoosh.  
  
“That’s what naughty girls get.”  
  
“Another,” she begs him. “I was really naughty, daddy, I came so hard, I deserve another spanking.”  
  
He obliges, a little harder this time, even more perfect than before, and her cunt is screaming at her that it’s been empty too long.  
  
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Yes. Yes.”  
  
He sinks down onto one elbow, heavy, hot, ready for her, and nudges his cock into her cunt from behind. She gasps, almost screams. This angle, obviously, is impossible with a dildo, and the sensation is totally new. He holds her down – just a little, just the right amount, one hand gripping her hair and the other guiding in his cock all the way before sliding up to brace against her ass.  
  
“Daddy likes it this way,” he tells her. “Daddy wants to be a little rough with his baby? Is that okay?”  
  
“Please,” she moans, so he does.

His fingers dig into her skin, one on her ass and one at the back of her throat, holding her down as he picks up speed, and this is what she wanted but could never have admitted to herself, because this must be what it feels like to get really and truly fucked. He grunts low and rough, wild animal noises, the hottest thing she’s ever heard in her life, no words intelligible, just _“unh, unh, unh, unh, unh”_ over and over in a low echoing baritone staccato as his cock drives into her.  
  
She gasps his name once, twice, but she can hardly make sounds either, mouth open, eyes closed, face half buried in the pillows, hair a sweaty tangled dark cloud obscuring half her face, sweat trickling down her spine. She feels him bottom out inside her, feels the slap of skin on skin as his achingly heavy balls make contact, squeezes her thighs a little to hold them there, to torture him a little.  
  
“Can you feel it?” he whispers, forcing the words out through his desperate, raw groans. “Can you feel how full they are? So full of cum for my baby girl?”  
  
“I want it all,” she mumbles wildly into the pillow, “all of it, all of it.”  
  
He sits back onto his knees, pulls his cock out with a thick wet sound. “Roll over,” he commands, and she does. He drops down onto her chest, so hard and fast it knocks the wind out of her. “I have to look at you,” he moans into her throat as he repositions his cock again. “When you make me come. I want to watch you.”  
  
“Let me take care of you, Daddy,” she whispers, caressing his hair, lifting his head so his dark eyes can fix on hers. “Let me take it all for you. Let me be your good girl.”  
  
“Always my good girl,” he pants, as his cock begins to leap inside her, making her squeak and wriggle with pleasure. “Always.”  
  
“You fucked me so good, Daddy, I just want it to be good for you too.”  
  
“It will be, angel, oh God, it will be, your thirsty little cunt is going to take it all and it’s gonna make us both feel so good . . .”  
  
His voice trails off, eyelids heavy, jaw clenched, and one hand slides down her belly to rub circles around her clit as he pounds into her. The sensation of two things at once is shattering, and she whines a keening little shrill cry through gritted teeth, afraid to let go and scream so loud Raven and Luna will hear her.  
  
“I’m, I’m, oh, I’m almost, oh,” he groans, barely able to get out even that much, and she looks up at him, watching his face. His hair is mussed, sweat beading at the temples, a flush sweeping over his cheeks, his lips pink and kiss-swollen, his eyes pressed closed, and this is the other thing Octavia realizes a dildo can’t replicate: the way it feels to hold a man inside her and gaze with impossible love up at his sex-shattered face while he feels an orgasm rise up inside him is so intoxicating that she feels drunk off it.  
  
“Open your eyes and look at me,” she murmurs, and the earth’s polarity reverses, everything in the room is different, because she’s not his naughty baby girl and this isn’t a game, she’s a _woman_ , strong and sure and knows what she wants. She’s his lover, she’s the woman he’s fucking, she’s taken control completely, and his eyes fly open in shock as he looks down at her, aroused to the point of dizziness by this new thing in her voice. “Stay with me, Marcus,” she breathes, voice soft and insistent and low. “Come for me. Come inside me.”  
  
“Octavia,” he whispers. “Octavia.”  
  
“I’m here. I’m here. I can take it all. I’m ready.”  
  
And so he lets go, his cry nearly a shout, only bit back just in time, burst after burst of heat erupting inside her, fingertips fumbling between her thighs to bring her with him, sticky and wet and hot, cum slicked all over his hand, and as she convulses and arches her back and groans his name she feels him collapse onto her breast like a spent, broken thing.  
  
She holds him there for a long time, both of them catching their breath, the scent of sex rising off the sheets and making them dizzy. There are a hundred thousand thoughts crashing inside her brain, but she can’t get any of them out. When she finally opens her mouth, “Thank you” is all she can say, but she feels him smile drowsily against her shoulder, nuzzling a kiss into her neck, and she knows he understands.


End file.
